The Witch in the Well: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (18 page)

“Don’t forget her,” she begged. “Your mother needs you.”

Catherine leapt up the stairs. On the third one, her thin shoes skidded and she tumbled back onto the landing. Her head hit the edge of a chest, stunning her a moment.

“My lady!”

Catherine blinked. The priest was bending over her. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She felt her clothing for tears. “Did you see her?”

She knew before he answered that he hadn’t.

Why was she the only one the woman from the woods ever spoke to?

Catherine sighed. “Would you mind escorting me back to my seat?” she asked. “I seem to have missed the jugglers.”

Samonie waited until the children were tucked in and Agnes’s nurse there to watch them. Then she set out to find someone who could tell her what was going on. There must be a servant here who knew the truth of the matter.

She started on the level where the guests were housed. It was a sensitive task to casually wander through the rooms without appearing to be a thief. She had just decided that there was no one working there, when a man came out of one of the cubicles.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” he asked.

Samonie turned to run, but the man caught her, spinning her around to face him. He squinted at her face in the dim light.

“Who are you?” he asked. He brought her face closer. “Wait, I know you, don’t I?”

Samonie gasped. He had known her well enough once. Sixteen years before she had shared his bed for a season at the court of Count Thibault. She hadn’t given him her heart, but he had been pleasant enough and treated her with kindness.

“I’m a servant to Lady Catherine, Lord Gargenaud’s granddaughter from Paris,” she told him.

He shook his head, trying to place her. She saw how the gold hair was thinning and strung with silver.

“You’re Samonie,” he said at last and smiled. “Now I remember. I came back to the Christmas court at Troyes just to see you but they said you’d gone.”

“Yes, my lord Brehier.” She bent her head humbly. No point in telling him she had gone back to her mother’s to have the baby.

“You look well,” he said. “You live in Paris now? Is your mistress good to you?”

Samonie was taken aback. He seemed genuinely concerned for her.

“I’m quite happy there,” she answered. “And you?” she dared to asked.

He shrugged. “Well enough. I’ve been here several years now. Gargenaud is a hard man, but generous. He is a distant relation of my mother.”

Not enough
, Samonie thought. It was clear that Brehier had come down in the world. From a knight of Count Thibault to a hired man-at-arms for one of his vassals was a long fall.

“That’s good,” she said. “Now I must find my mistress.”

As she hurried back to the nursery, Samonie cursed herself. She should never have admitted who she was. It made no difference to him. She was only a casual affair from his youth. He was little more than that to her. And yet. . . no, she stopped that line of thought. Her duty now was to the present, to those she had sworn to care for.

There was no point at all in telling her son, Martin, that she had just seen his father.

Catherine waited until they were back in their quarters to tell Edgar of her adventure that evening.

“If you say I must have imagined all this,” she said wearily, “I swear I’ll send you up to sleep with the children.”

“I’m sure you got lost,” Edgar yawned. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if some woman saw you wandering about and decided to have some fun taunting you. Everyone in this place is strange. Did you notice that no one bothered to introduce us to your grandfather’s wife? I don’t even know her name. Do I think your woman was a ghost or a river nymph? Perhaps. But I’m greasy and tired and I’ve had way too much to drink. Also, that music set my teeth on edge, with the horns and bells and badly tuned vielete. Can we sleep on it? Tomorrow I’ll corner your cousin Seguin and make him tell me what’s going on here.”

“Yes, I suppose tomorrow will be time enough.” Catherine sighed. “I’m sure Seguin will have a simple explanation for everything. But, just for tonight,
carissime
, would you mind if I slept between you and the wall?”

The next day started normally enough. The first thing Catherine heard was a male voice cursing loudly at an overenthusiastic rooster. There were groans from the passageway as people faced the morning with wine-induced headaches and overstuffed bellies.
Even the fresh herbs strewn among the straw on the floor couldn’t disguise the reek of vomit.

Idly, Catherine wondered why no one in the
jongleurs
’ tales ever had a hangover. All those heroes spent their nights at enormous feasts and the next morning woke up fresh to go jousting or dragon slaying. Of course, perhaps Roland had refused to blow his horn at the battle of Roncevaux not because he was too proud to summon help, but because the noise would have hurt his head more than a Saracen’s blade.

She thought about sharing this interpretation with Edgar, but decided not to bother. Following her literary speculations, it occurred to her that none of the ladies of the
chansons de geste
had to step over the remains of someone’s meal to get to the privy.

Catherine knew this was the fate that awaited her and it couldn’t be put off much longer. She was reluctant to leave the bed. It was so comforting to lie with Edgar’s back blocking the sight of the unfamiliar room. She didn’t want to disturb the rhythm of his gentle whistle snore by climbing over him. Especially since he often misinterpreted the movement as the prelude to something she wasn’t ready to get involved in.

There was nothing for it. Catherine felt around for her
bliaut
and pulled it over her head. As expected, the moment she started to slide across his body, Edgar reached for her.

“In a moment,” she promised. “I’ll be right back.”

He grunted sleepily and let her go.

An instant later, she was back. He felt the pressure on the side of the bed and opened his eyes hopefully. Catherine was leaning over him. Her expression didn’t hold the promise of any sex in the near future.

“Edgar, get up!” She tugged at the sheet. “Samonie found me in the passage. She’s been up all night watching over the children. Someone tried to take Agnes’s baby from his cradle. The nurse didn’t wake, but Samonie was sitting by the bed and
scared the intruder away. She thinks they would have taken Peter, too.”

“What!” Edgar was up at once, throwing his tunic over his head and reaching for his belt.

They found a haggard Samonie still sitting between the children and the door. On the bed, James, Edana, and Peter were bright-eyed and bouncing to be let out.

Edgar laid his hand on Samonie’s shoulder. He tried to find the words to thank her for her vigilance. She looked up at him and smiled.

“I didn’t see who it was,” she told him. “Someone in a woman’s robes, but it was too dark to see the face. I called out and they ran away. I’d have followed, but I stopped to be sure little Gottfried was safe and Peter still in his cot.”

“Thank you, Samonie. Now get some sleep,” Edgar told her brusquely. “We’ll take the day watch.”

He and Catherine loaded themselves with their progeny and set out to find Seguin.

They ran him down in one of the storehouses, inspecting a delivery of cheese. He gave them a polite smile that changed to a frown as he saw their disheveled state.

“There was no need to bestir yourselves so early,” he said. “Most of the household won’t waken before None.”

Edgar wasted no time with pleasantries.

“We came to Boisvert to help you,” he said. “At great inconvenience. Now you repay us by trying to steal our children! Everyone in this place seems to be either bewitched or mad, and I’m taking my family out of it now!”

Seguin looked from him to Catherine to their rather grubby offspring in total bewilderment.

“Your children? Why should I steal them? What are you talking about?”

Edgar wasn’t to be put off.

“When was the last child born here in Boisvert?”

Seguin grew still.

“Aymon was the last.” He spoke quietly. “He’s twenty now. It was some time before we realized anything was wrong. First Elissent and I thought it was something we had done. Then we realized that no woman living at Boisvert was conceiving. Finally we began to suspect that Andonenn’s protection was failing.

“We were afraid the curse might reach to all her children. It gave us great joy to know that Madeleine’s family has been spared. When I saw you, I felt the first hope I’ve had in months. That’s all. I assure you that your children are precious to us. No one would harm them.”

“Someone would.” Edgar stepped closer to him, forcing the man to meet his eyes. “Our maid says there was an intruder in the nursery last night. She also said that yesterday one of the women made a fuss over Peter, refusing to give him back after his bath.”

“Ah.” Seguin thumped the cheese in embarrassment. “That would be Briaud, Grandfather’s new wife. She’s become extremely melancholic lately. She longs for a child of her own.”

“I see,” Edgar said. “And, of course, the ‘curse’ prevents this, not her aged husband. So, why would that make her steal one of ours? What did she intend to do with him?”

Seguin’s discomfort turned to anger.

“Nothing!” he shouted. “Do you think we’re pagans who sacrifice infants to appease the gods?”

“Are you?” Edgar stared him down.

“Saint Andrew’s flapping fish, man! Of course not!” Seguin stepped up onto the cheese cart to raise himself to the same height as Edgar. “The prophecy is quite clear. All the children of Andonenn must be present if the spring is to flow again. That includes yours.”

“And just how are they to do that?” Edgar was far from mollified.

Seguin folded his arms. “That will only be revealed when the last ones arrive tomorrow.”

Edgar backed away from him. Catherine and the children clustered around, making a tight family unit. Edgar held Edana closer.

“We won’t be here tomorrow,” he told Seguin. “Catherine, how soon can we be ready to depart?”

“Within the hour,” she answered. “Instantly, if need be.”

“No!” Seguin’s expression changed to panic. “You can’t go. Don’t you understand? You’d be condemning us all!”

Edgar started herding the family back to the keep. “That’s no concern of mine,” he said over his shoulder. “Catherine, go find Margaret and let her know we’re leaving. I won’t have her trapped in this place, either.”

“Of course,” she said. “With any luck, we’ll meet Guillaume on the road in time to tell him to turn around.”

“No! Please!” Seguin followed them, wishing he could just call the guard and force them to stay. If it hadn’t been for Margaret, he might have tried it. However, holding the granddaughter of one’s lord captive was to guarantee swift and terrible retribution.

“Please!” he called again. “My lord Edgar, I beg you to stay. I swear on Andonenn’s treasure that we intend no harm to your children. They are our future, too. If you only understood. . .”

Catherine paused and looked back. She touched Edgar’s arm. Reluctantly, he turned to face Seguin.

“I have brought my family here against all logic and sense,” he said. “I did this for love of my wife and respect for her people. You will need to give me much more in the way of explanation and reassurance before I’ll even consider staying here another hour.”

Seguin looked pleadingly at them. His bald head glistened with sweat that rolled down his face and into his eyes. He blinked, not noticing the sting.

“I can’t tell you.” The words were choked from him. “There are rules. Rules from before Grandfather’s time, even. All I know is that we must all be together when the box is opened or we are doomed.”

Edgar gave a snort of disbelief.

“What box?” Catherine asked.

“The one Andonenn gave to her eldest child.” Seguin glanced about to be sure no one was in earshot. “It’s so old that the silver lock has turned black as ebony. It is only to be opened in our most dire need.”

Edgar rolled his eyes. “And this is it? What makes you think so? There’s no sign of danger here, not from outside, at least. I see huge amounts of food stockpiled and no lack of water. Do you know the famine they’re suffering in the north? That is dire.”

Seguin shook his head. “You still don’t understand. Follow me.”

He led them to a low stone building. The walls had been piled up any which way from pieces of rock and old buildings. Catherine thought she spied the pale marble hand of an ancient statue stuck between two irregular pieces of granite. The mortar had fallen out and been replaced countless times over the centuries. Seguin opened the door.

The building had no windows. Seguin left the door wide, so that the sun fell on the circle of rocks that rimmed the well in the center of the room. They were bone-dry.

“You see?” he said. “A year ago, this was nearly overflowing, as it has been all my life. We never needed a windlass before to draw the water. Now every month we have to add a new length to the rope.”

“Wells run dry,” Edgar said. “Have you tried digging a new one?”

Seguin stared at him without comprehension.

“A new well won’t save us,” he said. “It’s drying up at the source. And our family with it.”

Catherine had been peering into the well. Beside her, James picked up a pebble and dropped it in. There was a long wait before they heard the plop. Catherine stepped back, dragging James with her.

“The legend says this comes from a spring under the castle, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, deep beneath the hill, where Andonenn still lives,” Seguin answered. “But she must have grown too weak to fight off the curse of Empress Judith any longer. You must see that it’s our duty to save her as well as ourselves.”

“No,” Edgar answered. “I only see why I want to be far away from this place at once. It’s all very well to have a fairy, or even a demon, on the family tree, but everyone else keeps them firmly in the distant past. They don’t go trying to dig them up. If you people really believe some immortal water sprite lives beneath Boisvert then you’re all mad.”